


Scars

by Yooms (Yummistuck)



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Violence, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yummistuck/pseuds/Yooms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of what might have happened Aladdin had never appeared in Alibaba's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was only one command in his mind:

 _Run_.

And he ran, his feet had grown wings and he ran, pushed himself through the streets laden with merchants and customers, deaf to their angered outcries. He ran, bumping into people and stands and people, his breaths too torn away from his lungs for him and his feet too fast for him to choke out an apology.

He could only hear his ragged breathing and- _-there it was, behind him, the sound of feet stomping on the hardened ground like death knells, yells, how many men? One? Two? Three? Ten? Twenty?_

_Ah, it didn't matter._

_All that mattered was he that he **ran** \--_

He felt a white hot pain lash at his ankle. He stumbled, tried to get up, but no, his foot wouldn't listen, and he plummeted to the ground.

A fist slammed into his face as he struggled to get up. Shit. Shit!

His aggressor drew back with a cry when he lashed his dagger, which he had kept sheathed in case he would bump into any civilian, and he quickly got back to his feet, holding it out. It was an extension of his hand now; come to close and the wasp would sting.

How many men? Three only, but he could see the muscles bulging under their skin, their scarred hands that whispered their experience in combat.

Two had swords in their hands.

He put a shaking arm behind his back and, taking a quick breath, lunged.

Metal met metal and their blades screeched in fury. People stopped to stare at the battle, at him as he dodged the blades and swiped back at his attackers, covering them in scratches, and  _help, help, can't you see that I need help?!_

The blunt side of a sword hit his shoulder, and he staggered. That was all they needed. A fist slammed deep into his abdomen, literally punching the breath out of him. He stumbled, trying to remember how to breathe, what he was doing, when two more fists punched him, up the jaw and across the face, and finally a white hot line of pain slashed itself across his back.

He fell. His dagger clattered to the ground besides him.

The pavement, already bleached white by the sun, was blazing hot against his bruised cheek. He struggled to get to his feet, quickly, ignoring the searing heat on his palms, but a heavy, booted foot slammed down on his back and he was forced back down.

A hand roughly grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, forcing him to look up into the slave-catcher’s twisted face, at the coiled whip he held in his free hand.

"You think you can run away from us, rat?" he hissed, a wicked smile curving his lips. His breath smelled like metal and tobacco. "It's futile."

Alibaba spat; blood and saliva splattered on the slave-catcher's cheek. He roughly let go of him and Alibaba's forehead bounced on the pavement.

Alibaba struggled to get up-- _Go! Go!!!_ \--but something heavy struck to the back of his head, and he spiraled into darkness.

* * *

He woke to the sensation of falling.

He landed in reality--or, so to speak, pain. Pain blossomed in his limbs, his face, back,  _everywhere_ , and he gasped as he struggled with his consciousness, with the faded black creeping at the edges of his vision. It shouldn't hurt this much. Did they attack him even after he had fallen unconscious?

Alibaba was able to glimpse at a golden rectangle of sunlight that sat, undisturbed, on the dirty, hard ground before the darkness took over.

* * *

A drop of water, as cold and harsh as a knife blade on his forehead, woke him again.

The sun had passed and it was dark. Who knew what time it was.

Alibaba found himself staring at the dark, cracked ceiling above him. Water dripped from a crack, weeping lazy, freezing tears onto his forehead. He gingerly touched his damp hair, wincing at the pain that laced through his skull, and carefully tilted his head upward with his mouth open. A drop of water fell into his mouth; he nearly choked at the bitter, rancid taste that permeated his tongue and the back of his throat, causing tears to spring up at the corners of his eyes. He coughed weakly, turning over and twitching at the jolting pain in his limbs.

His movement triggered the sound of metal clacking against stone, and he stopped at it. Slowly, hissing quietly in discomfort, he forced himself to sit up far enough on his elbows so that he could register the rusty metal rings around his ankles and the chain that connected them.

Ah. He stared at them as his eyes grew more adjusted to the dark, at the dark spots on the metal that foretold their age, at how long they held weeping men, women, and children in their grasp.

Something heavy was strewn across his lap. He looked down at the chain there and the tight metal bracelets on his wrists, so tight that he could see the bruising form on the skin around them.

They were heavy. So were the ones on his ankles. Alibaba clawed at them vainly, knowing well that only a key could help him--as if he could rip these chains apart--and slowly looked around.

He was in a dark, dirty cell, with dirt and dark puddles of water (and who knows what else) as his companions. The only window sat high above him, near the ceiling--it must've been around noon when he was last awake if he had seen sunlight on the ground. A wooden door, reinforced with some metal, stood diligently at the corner.

He stared at the chains between his hands and feet. They were long--not long enough to give him much mobility, but not so short that he wouldn't be able to walk or even run a little. They were mainly there as reminders, decorations really.

Alibaba clenched his fists. Yes, decorations. There was no way he was going to be taken in as a slave.

He slowly, haltingly, got up to his feet, clenching his teeth to ignore the pain that shot through his bones. The bastards really had beaten him after he fell unconscious, he could tell with the bruises that coated his arms and the pain that blossomed in his torso. They were kind enough to keep him in his original clothes, but even those were tattered horrendously. There was a sharp, long pain on his back and ankle that told him that he had definitely been whipped, and that if he were not careful it would start bleeding again.

He limped, careful not to cause too much sound with the chains, to the door. Despite the metal, the wooden boards were worn, and he could see a few holes that rot had eaten its way through the years. He gingerly pushed his face toward one of the holes, peeping through it.

His eye struggled with the dark for a moment, and then it registered what was undeniably cloth. Shit. Someone was standing guard outside his door. He wasn't that important. Why was someone guarding him?!

He had been rather quiet, but maybe they knew he was awake. He stood frozen by the door, the gears in his mind whirling and ticking. What to do, what to do?

Alibaba drew back from the door, plan in mind. It wasn't great, really, especially seeing that he had no idea what anything looked like outside his cell, but it was better than just moping around and waiting for himself to turn into a slave. He wasn't a slave yet.

_He was never going to be._

He shuffled a few steps away from the door, gliding his feet so that the chain would hardly click, and then, taking a large breath, jumped.

He ignored the screaming of his muscles, for the sound of the chains clanking against the hard stone floor made a much of a louder noise.

He heard a tired, startled noise from the guard outside his door, who must have been dozing beforehand. Alibaba quickly brought himself down to the floor, flailing his limbs to cause as much ruckus as possible.

"What's going on in there?!" the guard hissed through the door.

Alibaba didn't cease his fussing. "... Hurts!" he managed to hiss, which was true, but for better reason. He slammed his wrists and ankles against the ground, making as much noise as possible.

The door opened as the guard stepped in to see what was going on. Alibaba continued to convulse on the ground until the guard stepped to his side.

In an instant he got up, swinging his wrists so that the long chain between them could fling up and hook around the guard's neck. He shoved his foot onto the guard's back, leaning back and pulling with crossed arms, watching the guard claw at the chains at his neck while choking and convulsing. He only stopped when the guard let in a rattling, weak breath and fell to the ground, nearly bringing Alibaba down with him.

Alibaba untangled the chains from the man's neck, staring at them. The guard's weight had put a lot of pressure on the cuffs, and his wrists were almost black with bruises. It didn't matter, he told himself--he'd get them off anyway and the bruises would heal. Bruises are nothing, anyway.

He quickly and quietly searched the man, his experience from living off the streets helping him with knowing where to look. He was rewarded with a bag of coins, a set of keys, a more than useful sword, and some water and bread. Alibaba shoved the crust of bread into his mouth, chewing on it slowly as he cut parts of the guard's sleeve and stuffed the pieces of cloth into the bag of coins to muffle clinking. He vainly attempted to use the keys on his cuffs, but they were clearly meant for prisoner doors and did nothing.

He crept to his open door and peeped out.

Outside his cell was a long hallway. It was too dark to see either end of it.

Alibaba looked down at the chains at his feet. The ones on his hands he could handle, but the ones at his feet can only make noise and restrict him. Run and the clashing chains will wake everyone, slave and guard, and he'd be dead.

So he had to rely on stealth. Okay--he wasn't exactly light-footed, but Alibaba was good at being stealthy.

To go left or right though? Alibaba licked a finger, ignoring the dirty taste, and held it out in the air. He turned it slowly until he felt a chill coming from the left. Even if it didn't guarantee an exit, a window could provide at least an inkling of where he was in the building and even some light.

He held the guard's sword in his right hand as he pressed his back against the wall. He glided down the hall, the chains rattling against the floor with every step, but he made his steps light and rhythmic--it, hopefully, would not disturb any dozing guard.

He reached the end of the hallway, which naturally led to just another hallway. One end, the left, had a window, which he saw through the faint moonlight led to a simple dead end, with a door to the right that undoubtedly led to another save's cell. At least this one had no guard.

Alibaba hesitated. Undoubtedly there were other slaves in the building, facing the same pain and suffering he had already endured, probably worse. Unlike him, though, many had already lost hope.

He wondered how many cried themselves to sleep.

Alibaba shook his head harshly. He couldn't let himself think about it--even if there were others here, he couldn't save them! They'd wake everyone or even alert the guards themselves.  As if all the slaves here combined were enough to fight off all the guards. Besides, he left the keys in his cell, since they'd only make more noise.

He clenched his teeth and began creeping to the opposite direction from the window, only stopping to cross the hallway so that he could slide against the wall that made the exterior of the building. This way he could guarantee that any door he would run into would most likely lead him outside.

He turned a corner cautiously. Where in the world were the guards, he wondered when he looked down the empty hallway. Was he the only one with one? He knew well from the structure of the building that he was in only a small slave prison. This lifted Alibaba’s hopes; he actually had a pretty good chance of escaping!

The hand holding the sword was slick with sweat, but he didn't turn himself to let go of the sword to wipe it on his clothes. He didn't encounter a guard or door on this hallway, and he turned the corner again.

He heard the air stir with soft breathing, and he froze where he was, feeling cold sweat erupt onto his forehead and arms. His eyes searched the darkness wildly and finally spotted a guard sitting against a door--a door that connected to the wall Alibaba was leaning against, indicating that it led outside.

Clearly the guard was asleep, or else Alibaba’s chains would have alerted him by now. Alibaba released the breath that he had kept painfully in his chest, not daring to move his arms or legs in fear of waking the guard. Luck was still being kind to him. He was actually almost out of the building now and every man he had wandered upon happened to be almost asleep. Maybe some kind soul had drugged the guards’ food beforehand--something preposterous.

Or maybe they were all just sleepy. One way to really find out.

He took a deep breath and began running. The chains on his feet clanked wildly against the ground, and he heard the guard wake with a startled, confused noise. Alibaba knew that he was taking a huge risk, but he couldn’t rely on stealth when the chains were noisy even with little stimulation.

He reached the guard and, before he could fully wake up, smashed the handle of his sword against the guard’s temple. The guard quickly fell unconscious, and Alibaba grabbed him to prevent him from slamming to the ground.

He didn’t bother looting the guard this time, and instead just fished a set of keys from his belt. He quickly tried them on the door. One particularly rusty key clicked in place, and he opened the door.

A breeze of fresh, cold air greeted him, and for a moment he felt a sense of disillusionment. It couldn't have been this easy, could it? But here he was--the moon, still high in the sky, was the same one he had seen every night before.

He didn't allow the sensation to last. Alibaba quickly looked to his left and right. Not a guard in sight; the area was clear of any sort of vegetation, which was to be expected, and yet it was strangely empty from any other building as well. He could see some, far off in the darkness, but besides that the area was relatively empty.

Something felt wrong with this, but he brushed it off quickly. Who cared. He couldn't sense anyone nearby, no buildings meant less people, and this just meant freedom for him.

He took a tentative step forward.

The chains were less noisy against hard dirt. The more steps he took away from that prison, the more relief Alibaba felt, the more he felt as if he could relax--he didn’t, though, and his hand was still tightly clenched around the sword’s handle.

 Even with his eyes constantly glancing at the ground for traps, he didn’t notice the wire until it pressed against his already whipped ankle, causing pain to shoot up his leg.

Crap! He instantly heard dogs barking from the distance--the wire must have set off some noise far away. Despite himself he glanced down to get a closer look at the wire--it had been painted black, obviously meant for nighttime, and it was no wonder that he wasn’t able to see it.

That didn’t matter now, Alibaba thought to himself through the mad beating of his heart. Adrenaline raced through his bloodstream as he quickly hopped over the wire, breaking into an awkward sprint. He tried to ignore the chains as much as possible, but they prevented him from fully extending his legs, and more than once he found himself almost tripping.

He could hear the dogs closer now, and guards too, yelling as they chased after the dogs. Shit, he wasn’t sure if he could fight against that number.

Alibaba felt that he had hardly ran when the first dog got to him. He didn’t hesitate; he lashed his sword at the barking creature, not bothering to even look at it in the darkness, and he heard it yelps quiet as he ran. He had near no idea where he was even going now; the scenery all looked the same, and he realized his location with a small jolt: he was at the outskirts of Qishan, which explained why what he thought was a part of the sky was actually a huge wall.

He could either run to the wilderness, which meant a low chance of survival, or into Qishan itself, which would only lead to capture. Alibaba’s steps faltered, himself confused.

The brief hesitation allowed another dog to lunge at him. Alibaba let out a startled yell as he felt its teeth sink into his left arm, and he vainly attempted to shake it off, taking a few steps back in a panicked frenzy before sense drove him to hit the dog with the hilt of his sword. The dog let go, but it snarled and lunged again.

Alibaba kicked it, hard, but hurried footsteps were approaching too quickly, and he looked around to the guards that had surrounded him. 

There were only five of them, but five against one was not in his favor. He only had time to draw in a quick breath before the first guard attacked. 

Sword meet sword, and Alibaba's bruised muscles strained underneath the pressure of the guard's blow. He scraped his blade against the other's, moving down toward the guard so that he could knee him in the stomach. He quickly spun around, catching the blade of another guard with his sword, and lunged.

His swordsmanship, mainly skilled with the short, wide daggers that he had been trained with before in his childhood, was clumsy, and yet his experience in fighting was clear. The guards noticeably drew back the force in their blows, evidently confused; Alibaba didn't let this stop him and continued attacking furiously, now keeping both hands on the handle of his sword so that he could strike as hard as he possibly could. 

He knocked the sword out of one of the guard’s hands, and he felt their blows lessen. What, were they losing hope? The wild thought was hopeful; he could see the guards stepping back a bit, and he ran forward, yelling, to break through.

Something sharp pricked his neck. Alibaba stumbled wildly, reaching up to grab whatever had poked him and pulling it out. His eyes registered a needle, topped with a colorful feather, in his hand before his knees suddenly gave out, and he felt himself hit the ground.

 _Dammit..._  he could only think to himself as he looked at the feet approaching him. His muscles wouldn’t move, no matter how much he told them too.

Darkness enveloped him once more, and he screamed at it in frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this story is definitely Alihaku, Hakuryuu won't be appearing for a while. Sorry if this disappointed any of you .w.;; The POV will sometimes switch to Hakuryuu but it will mainly stay as Alibaba.
> 
> Again thank you so much for reading! I hope you stick with this story until the end!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop whoop. Finally posted this yawns the fic will take its turn starting the next chapter. Hope you enjoy this one, though!

He dreamed a dreamless dream, and he guessed when he woke up that he was thankful for that. Alibaba found that he didn’t want a happy dream that would only fill him with false images and hope, nor did he want devastating nightmares that would only lead him to a real one. Neutrality was far better, where he didn’t need to expect anything--it was just rest, blank rest in preparation for what was to come.

He immediately started coughing when he awoke. A metal ring was wrapped around his neck; most of its pressure was at the front, and he realized that it was partially because he was leaning against it. It was chained to the wall; so were his wrists, which were above his head, and ankles, but in such a way that it was impossible to sit or even relax. If he didn’t want to cause strain on the chains and hurt himself he would have to stand.

He couldn’t tell if it was daytime or nighttime; the cell he was in now didn’t have any windows. It was extremely dim, and if he didn’t know any better he would have just assumed that no time had passed at all.

Alibaba looked closely at the wall and noticed that it was made out of a different material than the ones in the previous prison cell, which meant that he was put into a new location. Surprisingly enough, however, he found that he had no new injuries, except for the extremely uncomfortable rings of skin at his ankles, wrists, and neck. They itched like mad, but Alibaba could hardly move his arms now. His arms were beginning to shake with strain from holding them up, and he sighed and allowed them to relax, causing his wrists to pull the short chain between them and the wall taut.

Well damn. In such a position he couldn’t escape now. They’ll probably keep him like this until they take him off for examinations for the slave auctions--he’ll escape then. Who cares if he was already caught and their guard was higher now. He couldn’t possibly allow them to catch them again.

Alibaba nodded slowly to himself, trying not to strain the metal bound on him. He still hadn’t given up hope. He could definitely still escape if he tried; but for now he just had to lay low and wait.

A door he didn’t even notice slammed open, and Alibaba flinched at the sudden sound. Two men walked in, the one in the back noticeably larger than the other, and Alibaba recognized the one in the front to be the slave catcher that happened to catch him before. He even had the same red lipstick and black eyeliner. Gross.

“Well, well,” the slave merchant said when he stopped in front of Alibaba, bending his knees a little so that their faces would be aligned, as Alibaba’s position didn’t allow him to stand straight. “You gave that prison quite a ruckus last night. And at just your first night as well!”

He laughed. Alibaba glared at him, not bothering to say anything. What was the point anyway?

“Hm? No words?” the slave catcher asked, bringing a fingertip underneath Alibaba’s chin to force his head up. “Of course you aren’t the first. Many talk, usually beg and cry and scream or even try to threaten me, but there are the silent like you, too. Ah, but then again, everyone quiets down in the end.”

Despicable. Alibaba clenched his jaw, and the slave merchant, noticing, laughed aloud.

“Funny! I’m Fatima, by the way,” he said, pointing at himself with a thumb. “Say now, boy, every once in awhile I don’t sell a slave that I catch because I see the worth in him. Not ladies, of course--they make great slaves--but men I can definitely afford to keep!”

What was he getting at? Alibaba stared at him with a what he hoped was a bored gaze, waiting.

Fatima chuckled. Apparently everything amused this guy. “What I’m saying is that I ‘buy’ some of the slaves myself--and if I especially like them, I even take away their slave statuses. For example, Na’il behind me here happens to be one of my right-hand men! He’s living quite a life of luxury compared to some other slaves I happened to sell off.”

Alibaba furrowed his eyebrows slightly at the guy.

“So. Obviously, here’s my offer; why don’t you work for me? The guards tell me that you’re definitely a fighter, and I like fighters. They’re fun to play with. What do you say?”

Alibaba snorted quietly in reply. What an easy answer; of course he wouldn’t work for a jackass like this with a profession that was just despicable. Alibaba didn’t have extremely strong opinions of slavery before he had been caught--like everyone else, he just tended to avert his eyes--but now being in a slave’s position himself, he knew now of how easily evil could be ignored, but how it existed, how it manifested itself in the man in front of him and the things he did.

He wasn’t a part of that evil.

Fatima the slave catcher must have understood the look in Alibaba’s eyes, but his smile only grew. “I see,” he said, letting go of Alibaba to stand up straight and stretch his arms over his head. “That’s fine with me. Like I said, fighters are fun.”

Alibaba frowned in confusion, and Fatima just laughed again. “Well, there are only three things to do with fighters: recruit them, discipline them, or kill them. Since you obviously don’t want to be recruited, and killing you wouldn’t be worth it, the only left is to discipline you, right?

“Ah, don’t worry about time,” he added as an afterthought. “I thought this might have happened, so you’re scheduled to be sold in quite a few months, after you heal up. You’re going to be travelling with me for a while, kid, so you might as well get used to my face, alright?”

The guy smiled, and Alibaba glared at him, making an effort to stay silent. Was it possible to intensely hate someone that he had just met?

“Anyway, no time to dilly-dally.” Fatima said with a satisfied grin. “I’ll leave Na’il to you. You’ll be let out of these confines when you’re done.”

He turned toward his partner and added, “Ah, don’t get his face. People like pretty slaves.”

Fatima left the room whistling and shut the door behind him, and Alibaba was left staring at the giant man left behind. Now that his attention was placed on him, Alibaba could see the huge, veiny muscles bulging underneath the man’s skin.

“Well,” said Na’il, cracking his knuckles. They sounded like nuts being crushed under a stone. “Let’s see how far you can last, kid.”

* * *

Among large, black bruises that dappled his torso, Alibaba had a cracked rib, a dislocated shoulder, and a broken ankle before he fell unconscious.

When he woke up he was laying down in a cot. Sterile bandages had been wrapped around his entire chest, his ankle was secured in some sort of splint, and his shoulder had been popped back into place.

These treatments, however, did absolutely nothing with the raw pain that engulfed his body. Alibaba momentarily lost his breath, choking against nothingness as his lungs struggled to remember how to function. Everything hurt; his body twitched involuntarily, causing another spasm of pain to run through it, and he couldn’t help the tears that beaded up at the corners of his eyes.

He shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe, the effort of him making his chest burn and, shit, it hurt, it hurt so much. He had no chains on him this time, not even any metal rings on his ankles or wrists or neck, but he couldn’t even sit up or raise an arm to look at them because it hurt.

He knew there wasn’t any use in trying to get some sort of painkiller or sedative. They wouldn’t give any to him even if he asked, and he couldn’t even get up to try to look for one in this probable hospital. Alibaba could only grit his teeth and wait it out.

Somehow, hours later with tears still wet on his face, he managed to slip back into a painful unconsciousness.

* * *

Fatima did not lie. Alibaba spent the next weeks, perhaps months (he stopped keeping track of time once he realized there was no point in scratching lines on the walls) traveling, if being pulled around like a dog on a leash counted as ‘traveling’.

His restrictions had been demoted to simple wrist and ankle cuffs again, a neck cuff only if they happened to be outside, which was often. Often he would spend the night in a large cage placed on top of a moving wagon with other slaves, and he could literally feel every pebble it drove over in his bones.

It somehow took Fatima a little while to realize that Alibaba was still wearing the same clothes he had been captured in, but by then they were already so soiled with dirt and blood and other things that there was no use in selling them. Still, Alibaba was thrown into dirty slave rags and his shoes were sold. His feet, after weeks of bleeding, became hard and filthy with calluses.

He still refused to say a word to the slave merchant, which suited them both fine. Even if Alibaba wanted to say something, a part of him doubted that he could have; the metal ring around his neck was constantly scraping at his throat and bothering him, and the pain, which didn’t fade even after the weeks had past, often stopped him from even thinking. It was difficult enough to just grit his teeth and walk, especially since he had to drag his chains with a healing ankle.

Sometimes, when they happened to stop by a large city for a slave auction and actually had a building to stay in, Alibaba would find himself sharing a prison cell with another slave or two, or maybe even twenty, depending on how the building was made. Even then he somehow couldn’t find himself to say anything; what could he promise these broken people, that they could all escape and become free, run away from the law and rules?

He didn’t believe in miracles, at least couldn’t now. Perhaps some foolish part of him believed that he might have been able to live happily after leaving Balbadd, but clearly he was wrong.

Even so, a small part of Alibaba still remained hopeful, a part of himself that he both cursed and encouraged. A part of him still hoped to escape, and that hope fueled his anger, his anger at being caught and being subjected to this sort of lifestyle.

He couldn’t escape until his wounds healed, though.

Besides being kicked and shoved around every so often and his obvious injuries,  Alibaba found himself relatively unhurt. Apparently his "discipline" was limited to only one lesson. That was more than fine for him.

Even so, that didn’t stop him from suffering heavily from the wounds he had already received. The meals that he and the other slaves got were expected but ridiculous. Already used to being a heavy eater, and also being a young boy with a fascinatingly fast metabolism, Alibaba took the toll of his small meals pretty badly. His appetite had dwarfed alarmingly since he was beaten, yet his body was beginning to eat at itself, his once hard muscles growing thinner and weaker. His skin began to cling onto his bones, and he could feel his ribs easily through his shirt.

Fatima was always present during Alibaba’s usual check-ups though and, seeing how malnourished he was, he ordered that Alibaba, since he was “bound to be sold for his looks and strength” or something along those lines, be fed a bit more. “A bit more” turned out to be another piece of bread per scanty meal, which Alibaba would wordlessly give to a prison mate or save for another time.

If Alibaba were thankful for anything it was that he never got ill despite the lack of food, warmth, hygiene, rest, and other conditions. He had heard plenty of tales of ill slaves that had been thrown into the cages of the animals that Fatima kept. Often, while being forced to clean, Alibaba would find small piles of large bones, all cleanly picked by animals, and would swallow bitter bile.

In the end it all only reminded him, urged him. He became more conscious of it by the day: he had to leave. He absolutely had to leave before his slave auction came, whenever that was; he didn’t know exactly whom Fatima wanted to sell him to, but he knew that he didn’t want to be a part of it. Whatever it was, it would mean either fighting or sex or both, and Alibaba was sure that he only preferred those two when he decided on them.

But how though? He spent his spare time--he found himself having plenty of that nowadays--scratching at the ground and thinking of a plan. He quickly scratched out the idea of a nighttime jailbreak; after a first attempt, he was sure that Fatima had every guard possible stationed outside his room every night.

He knew that his chance of escaping was miniscule, but he couldn’t help but to cling on the knowledge that that chance existed. His only other option was to give up and let himself become a slave, and that wasn’t an option at all

Alibaba eventually formatted a plan, a plan that was extremely risky and probably wouldn't work, but it was better than nothing.

The captives were often categorized into those who were going to be sent to the auction and those who would travel a bit further with Fatima. Alibaba, along with a few other muscled men and boys, was constantly in the latter category, and thus found himself unable to carry out his plan.

The day came, though, when Alibaba was decided to be sent to a slave auction. When he looked back at it, he realized it had been spring at that time.

"Have you ever crossed a sea?" Fatima asked him that day as he pulled a chain of slaves, with Alibaba at the lead, to a dock. The area was full of bustling sailors and yelling merchants, and Alibaba noticed Fatima's tight grip on the chains. He continued, "We're going to be on a boat for a couple of weeks, but after that I may just be able to get rid of you. Try not to get seasick; it's a pain to clean up."

As usual, Alibaba didn't reply.

Alibaba was put into the lowest part of a large boat with the rest of the slaves. It was his first time in a boat--although Balbadd was a seaside nation he had no reason to go out into sea--but Alibaba discovered that he, thankfully, did not get seasick.

Others weren't so lucky. Within the first day the rocking boat stank of vomit and waste.All Alibaba could do was try to find some dry board and hope that his wounds wouldn't get infected somehow.

 The slave merchants brought Alibaba and some others up after about a week (it was impossible to tell the time down there) for inspections. Alibaba walked clumsily up to the deck, squinting his eyes at the bright sunlight that greeted him. Salty air, crisp and clear, blew into his face, and he inhaled it deeply.

They made him strip and he stood there, naked, with his arms slightly extended at his sides as the slave merchants and doctors walked around him and occasionally prodded him.

Alibaba felt that a part of him should be humiliated, but he found himself not really caring. It hurt when they pressed old wounds and he didn't like it when they stuck their fingers into his mouth to see the back of his throat, but he handled it all surprisingly well. Why should he get into such fuss with these animals?

Alibaba wondered vaguely if he was being too submissive, but he shook the idea off.

"Not bad, blondie," Fatima commented. Alibaba didn't know when he became the bastard's favorite, but that appeared to be the case.

"You healed up quite nicely!" Fatima congratulated with a little clap of his hands. "Of course you're all skin and bones now, but hopefully the guy that buys you will feed you. I'm sure they will--you're bound to cost a lot with that pretty face, and no one likes to waste money."

Alibaba glared at his pitiful attempt to comfort him, which caused Fatima to burst into peals of laughter. The slave merchant walked away, chucklin, with a tube of lipstick in hand.

Alibaba looked away to the sea. He couldn't see a speck of land from any angle; all he could see was blue, swaying water and he found that he didn't mind. The water was peaceful and the breeze felt nice against his dirty skin. If he weren't chained up he would've jumped right off the ship.

Even without the binding the temptation was rather high.

Too late for the thought to get him, though, because a man was prodding him roughly between the shoulder blades to get him back into the hull of the ship.

He stepped down the stairs as slowly as he possibly could, relishing the sound of waves slapping against the ship’s wooden body.

* * *

Alibaba didn’t know what to think by the time light once more reached the hull. He didn’t know how long it had been, nor did he know how he was able to survive.

Everyone in the ship decided that moving around was not a good idea, as it only contributed to motion sickness and made tripping on a stray person only easier. Instead they, quite simply, just laid where they were for most of the time.

It took Alibaba a little while to realize that some of the people he thought were sleeping were actually not.

The hull stank more of just puke and shit and rotting boards now. It smelled like something was festering in the air, and it hurt to even breathe because of the the stench. His heart pounded rapidly and he often felt that his lungs were connected to his heart, they had to be because now they were only capable of taking in short, shallow breaths and it made him dizzy and unable to think.

More than once he passed out when he didn’t mean to, from sheer exhaustion or something else he didn’t know.

He and everyone else were desperate by the time the door opened for them to be let out. He tried not to rush, to push everyone so that he could be the first one out, but by then they had all lost their common sense--what remained last was the uncontrollable need to be let out of the hell that had manifested itself in the hull of the ship. He almost fell more than once, shoved forward by the countless hands pressing against him so that he could move.

Alibaba felt that he was going to go unconscious again when he was finally outside, trembling against the breeze and the sudden weight of his own body. He took in a few deep breaths of the fresh air, trying not to choke, and managed to calm his heart enough for him to observe his surroundings.

The ship had landed on the dock of what must be a big and prosperous city, seeing the number of merchants and customers walking around. He noticed, however, that they were not in any sort of nation he was familiar to; these people were wearing clothes completely different from the kind that the people of Qishan--or anyone around that area--wore, and although it was hard to see from the boat he could tell that their skin was noticeably paler. The sun here, he also noticed, wasn’t that strong.

Asia, he realized as a slave merchant began to herd the slaves off the ship. They were in Asia, which meant that the country they were in was most likely...

He grit his jaw.

The ground was rocky against his feet when he got off the dock. He didn’t feel any pain as the sharp pebbles cut into his skin, but he looked down at them in interest. Quickly, in the middle of a bunch of slaves, he knelt down to pick up a stone and kept it tight in his hand.

The slave merchants were rounding up the slaves so that they could chain them to each other. There were too many of them to be put into a single file line, so the crowd remained as a large blob as several slave merchants took the job of chaining them. Merchants streamed through the gaps in the crowd when they could.

Alibaba was to be one of the last ones to be chained in his groups. The slave merchant in charge of his group was one of the weaker ones--his body shape matched Alibaba’s before he was taken in as a slave, unlike the bulging ones that the other slave merchants owned.

Good.

Alibaba waited, taking a tentative step back to create a small gap between him and the slave in front of him. The slave merchant was rather close.

A merchant began to make his way through the crowd near Alibaba. The teenager waited apprehensively for him to approach and, when he was close enough, tossed the rock from his hand.

Years of playing with stones as a child did their job. The stone hit the back of the merchant’s head. Thanks to the angle that it was thrown, the merchant turned to the slave merchant.

“Hey,” he grunted, rubbing the back of his head. “What was that for?”

“Huh?” the slave merchant snorted, sensing the other’s aggressive tone. “What the fuck was what for, hmm?”

The other slaves took a couple of steps back as the two stepped toward with each other, watching as the two merchants began to argue. Alibaba watched with a suppressed smile, backing away even more as other merchants began to close in to see what the ruckus was about.

The two men were about screaming in each other’s faces by now, and Alibaba had to stop himself from snickering. He was getting further and further away from the group of slaves, having to step back to allow others to move in closer to the fighting men, and and he soon found himself at the edge of the crowd.

Perfect.

He glanced at the more open part of the street, where he noticed a merchant with a donkey pulling a cart of vegetables. Alibaba casually walked to him, using his cart as cover from the slave merchant crowd before he quickly slipped into an alley.

The alley was a bit too big for his liking, but thankfully it was dim, with cloth hanging between the two roofs, and he found a couple of boxes that he could rest behind. Alibaba sat down on the ground, shooing away a rat, and contemplated.

His chains would definitely cause suspicion, he knew, and he had to find a way to get them off. Doing this without money was especially tedious, and Alibaba realized with a jolt just how bad his situation was. He was in an empire hundreds of miles away from Qishan and there was no way to get back home any time soon.

Wait, but did that even matter? What was ‘home’ to him anyway? The dirty streets of Balbadd? The cart he drove in Qishan? The hull of the slave ship?

The sudden stench of the dying bodies of the slaves hit his nose, and he covered his face with both hands, trying not to gag. No, no, he’s not there anymore! He’s free now!

What am I saying? I’m not free! Alibaba thought desperately to himself, wrenching his hands away from his face to stare at his wrists, at the wrinkles his skin had formed around the cuffs because even though he had lost a lot of weight the cuffs were tight, so tight that he lost feeling in the area around them. A choked sound escaped his throat.

Free? He wasn’t free. He was still a slave, was still stuck in these confines of chains and he could probably never escape. What was he thinking--he was going to get caught and be punished again, worse this time, and he was going to die. He couldn’t return now, but where was he to go?!

Pathetic, a part of him thought to himself, he was acting absolutely pathetic, but he could hardly hear it over the ruckus of his thumping heart and shallow breathing. His hands clawed at his own throat, feeling if, there too, were marks there, and he felt a sudden jolt of pain as his jagged fingernails dug into his skin.

The pain snapped Alibaba back into reality, and he sat where he was, gasping and drenched in sweat, as he stared at the wall in front of him. No, no, he told himself with a shaky swallow. His mouth was parched dry.

Alibaba cautiously looked up from the boxes and glanced around. The alley was still empty, besides some other critters. He would have been more than happy to just stay here and rest, be away from any other human presence, but the alley was too close to the slave ship. Fatima would soon notice his absence and send people after him.

That thought was enough to bring Alibaba to his feet.

His golden hair--he could guess that it was a darker color now, from filth and such, but still--was too conspicuous, though. He found a couple trash cans down the alley and quickly dug through them. He was rewarded with a large piece of fabric, worn thin and torn in several places. He sat down with it and tore and tied parts of it until he fashioned a long cloak around himself with a shabby hood. It’d be nice if he could sew some shape into it, especially since his hod hardly did any work, but it did the job with covering the most noticeable details.

He also found a few scraps of food, mostly-eaten fruit and some tiny dumplings among other things, and he didn’t hesitate to eat them. When he was a child this was only but normal, and, well, after being a captive for the past half year, the variety from moldy bread was nice.

Alibaba tied the cloak to his left shoulder so that it would cover the drape of the chain between his wrists. It was so long that it hit the ground, which meant it also hid his chains.

It had only been about ten minutes since Alibaba had escaped from the slave crowd. He could still hear the ruckus from the main street--from the sound of it, a whole battle had erupted between several people--and moved away from the noise.

He found himself in another, less busy street. He expected merchants to be flanking every street but instead found it only full of pedestrians. They gave him odd looks, thank to his attire and obvious shabbiness, but besides that mostly ignored him.

He had done plenty of reading about different countries when he was younger, but that didn’t stop the sights from intriguing him greatly. He stared at the structure of the building, noticing how they were made out of clay instead of mud, and how noticeably paler the people were compared to him and his sunburn skin.

Alibaba moved quickly through several of the streets, feeling the distance between him and that ship widen and widen. No one stopped him from moving, and he heard no one go after him. His breathing got slower, his footsteps became less erratic.

 At one particularly large section he found a strange wooden canal running through the street, with water streaming through it. He drank from it greedily, also taking care to splash water onto his face and scrub his hands over the ground. Black water dripped from his fingers.

He felt calmer now, now that he had food and water in his system and a completely new culture to explore. He wasn’t completely safe yet, but he just had to move, to get out of this city and then he could remove his chains, bathe somewhere, get a job. The language here wasn’t different. He could live.

He turned away from the water canal and found himself staring at the completely recognizable figure of Fatima.

“Well, hello there.”

It was a flurry of panic and impulse, and a touch of desire that he had had ever since he was first captured, he guessed, that caused Alibaba’s knee to jerk up and smash directly into Fatima’s crotch. Alibaba didn’t give himself time to stare at the devil that curled himself up into a ball on the ground, only allowed himself to step right onto the man’s face as he ran away.

Perhaps running was the biggest mistake he made, for it only brought attention, and he could hear the people murmur as he dodged them. The hood--could he even call it a hood--fell off his head and gathered his shoulders, but his hands were too busy clutching at the cloth of the cape of the cloak to bring it back up.

The fatigue that had been only prodding at him before suddenly crashed onto Alibaba’s shoulders, and he staggered at the weight of it, his feet tripping over nothing and everything and his eyes hardly able to keep open now. His breaths tore from his lungs with effort, and he felt that he was going to vomit if he continued running, but he had to keep running, he had to.

He couldn’t.

His legs suddenly collapsed under him, and Alibaba felt as if every single one of his bones had shattered when he hit the ground. The world was only fog and fear now, he realized, as he reached a shaking hand out to whatever was in front of him. Fog and fear.

He grasped nothing.

Alibaba didn’t fall unconscious, but he wasn’t conscious either, as he felt hands grab at his arms and force him up. He heard words being hurled at him but didn’t comprehend them, a fist punching hard into his chest but he couldn’t feel it.

“The kid’s dying,” Fatima spat in realization. “I thought I told you to feed him more?”

“We did,” Na’il grunted, holding the unresponsive Alibaba up by his arms. Fatima rolled his eyes and narrowed them at the boy.

“Well, no one’s going to buy him at this state,” he muttered. “I thought we had taught him a lesson by now, but he’s going to give his new owner a hell of a hard time, and then they’ll complain.”

He glanced at Na’il, who gave him a raise of eyebrows.

“Yeah, I know,” Fatima said. “A bit regretful, but this proves it. This kid’s disposable.”

* * *

Alibaba finally regained his senses only when he found that he was back at the street by the dock. He was kneeling in front of a wooden post that had been set up there, one of the links of the shackle between his wrists nailed to the top of the post so that his arms and torso were forced up. He registered that there was an apprehensive crowd around him, made up of both slaves and townspeople, and a wave of fear crashed over him.

He could barely turn his head to look up at Fatima who was standing in front of him.

“Well, kid, you really did yourself this time,” the slave merchant said, noticing that Alibaba was back. “Took quite a while to find you, you know--you were gone for nearly an hour? Quite a record. But--” he grinned. “--no slave has ever escaped me. Sorry, kid, but you’re dead.”

Alibaba hardly registered what Fatima was saying, for his attention had focused onto the coiled whip that he held in his hand.

Fatima cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen and slaves!” he began, addressing the crowd with a sly grin. “I present you here a slave--” here he kicked Alibaba in the ribs, hard, “--that had, twice, attempted to run away. The first time he had been given quite a punishment, but that seems to not have been enough!

“So, you all now have the honor to watch his second punishment to take place. I’ve decided the sentencing quite easily.”

There was a short silence.

“Death,” Fatima said with a small smile. “By flogging. My favorite.”

Ah, Alibaba’s body felt numb as he dropped his head, ignoring the murmuring of the crowd and Fatima’s chuckling as he uncoiled his whip. He remembered faintly, when he was a kid, about how he used to write stories about himself and his great adventures. “The Adventures of the Great and Handsome Treasure Hunter Alibaba Saluja,” were they not called?

The great Alibaba Saluja ended up dying by more than a hundred lashes on his back, that caused him to die in convulsions of pain the next day while people watched in amusement, with no treasure in his pockets and no dignity to his name.

How pathetic.

A single tear fell before the whip. He couldn’t have said which hurt more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hakuryuu's still missing, sorry ;; they always say that the hero arrives late. haha what hero


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note Added on 4/17: I'm going to be taking a hiatus on this fanfiction! I have exams and deadlines coming up and i don't have the time to write (and to be honest, I'm sick of writing, even though what I'm sick of are essays and articles I can't do creative writing on top of it. you can tell how broken my english is right now hfekrjlewkr)
> 
> I'll resume once AP tests are over, though that'll be well more than a month. I may post an extra chapter before that time, as I do have a short chapter in the making that can count as a "bonus" (it's not extremely relevant the plot) but I can't promise anything.
> 
> Happy Alihaku-ing!

Fatima counted aloud with each lash.

Alibaba fell unconscious around thirty.

It hurt.

To say that it hurt was an understatement. ‘Pain’ was too simple of a word, unable to give justice to what it felt like. Each lash felt like lightning upon his back as it tore through his skin, cutting muscle and opening veins. The blood that began pouring from his wounds did nothing to stop him from feeling the lashes, did nothing to stop the raw friction created between the whip’s tail and his body--in contrary, they only seemed to add fuel to the wildfire that burned across his back, to the fresh lines that only got more and more numerous.

Alibaba didn’t know that he made small noises each time he was struck, that the crowd drew in collective breaths each time the whip went down, that his eyes were wide open but unseeing. All that mattered to him was the pain that didn’t stop, that somehow grew larger even though he thought it wasn’t possible.

He was glad that he fell unconscious. It meant that he could die quicker.

And yet

And yet he didn’t. He didn’t know how he knew, even while he wasn’t awake, that he didn’t die--he must have, since the pain inflicted on his body must have meant death, yet why didn’t he?

A part of him knew that he was alive, as he slowly began to wake who knows how long later, but the thought was extinguished by the raw pain that came with his consciousness. It blotted out all thoughts and all senses, so badly that he couldn’t only open his eyes to see where he was--he could only register a hard surface under him, beneath his chest, and that was it, that was it because fuck, fuck, it hurt.

The pain was so powerful that it was threatening to drag him under again, and he silently encouraged it with gritted teeth and fists, choking out ragged breaths.

Shit. Why couldn’t he just die? Flashes of memory coursed through his head, reminding him how he had landed himself in such a predicament, why he was feeling this pain in the first place.

The shame was enough for him to die.

Why couldn’t he...?

Alibaba let out a choked sob.

He felt something suddenly touch his arm, something cool in comparison to the heated pain that covered his body, and he jumped in surprise. His actions, however, caused the pain to redouble, and he let out a startled noise. The touch withdrew then.

Through the haze of pain he heard a voice mumble something, then, suddenly, felt the pain lessen and his back numb. His breathing steadied, but before he could open his eyes to see what happened a sudden blanket of fog placed itself on him. He didn’t struggle against it--it felt peaceful, so peaceful compared to the fire that had engulfed him just before, and he accepted it with a small sigh.

He felt the same touch, tentative and hesitant, on his shoulder, as he fell back asleep.

* * *

Alibaba once more did not dream anything, and because of it it had taken him some time to realize that he had awakened.

He was lying chest-down on what felt like wood covered in some sort of cotton with his right cheek was pressed against the board. He realized that he felt pretty comfortable not moving a muscle.

Comfortable?

His eyebrows furrowed slightly. He didn’t feel any pain.

Alibaba’s eyelids felt as if they had been glued together, and it took some effort to open them. At first his vision was blurry, but then it registered the clean, white cloth he was lying on, his left arm as it laid beside his face.

His eyes focused onto his wrist, and though he didn’t flinch he felt something akin to horror course through him. The cuff wasn’t there anymore, but in its place was a deep groove in his skin that ran all the way around his wrist. The skin in and around it was red and covered in bloody scabs. Undoubtedly his right wrist looked the same.

Alibaba saw something shift in the background and suddenly realized that he wasn’t alone. He lifted his head and tried to get up, but a sudden ache flashed across his back, and he fell back down with a small hiss.

The person had approached him, and Alibaba looked up at him with suspicion.

The man--well, no, perhaps boy was the better word, he looked younger than Alibaba--had clear blue eyes. No, that wasn’t right: eye, for the other one wasn’t clear at all, covered by a thin film of white that made it look lighter than the other. Around it the skin was darkened by a scar, a scar that licked at the left side of his face like flames.

The eyes looked at back him without kindness nor hostility; instead they seemed to just observe him, to watch him with some sort of indifferent curiosity. Alibaba wasn’t sure how to feel about them.

Then the eyes blinked, and suddenly the boy’s face looked kinder.

“Hello,” he said in a calm voice, a voice that undoubtedly had politeness engraved into it since youth. “Please refrain from moving as you just did; although your wounds have stabilized and are almost healed, sudden movement can aggravate them.”

Alibaba stared at him without replying.

The boy continued, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ren Hakuryuu, the fourth prince of the Kou Empire. I do not often wander away from the castle, but I happen to be in port town for business.”

Alibaba didn’t reply. The prince, Hakuryuu, cleared his throat and continued speaking.

“I... found you at the port and took you from the scene. You have been unconscious for around three days now. During that time I had doctors and a magician come to look at you, and they say that they will be able to move in a few more. We are to leave this town in a few days.”

Alibaba stared. Hakuryuu glanced away. Despite the silence, the question that hung in the air was obvious.

“I bought you as a slave. From now on you are to follow me.”

Alibaba tried to swiftly get up, but again the pain on his back reappeared, and he propped himself up on his forearms to look at the prince. The prince looked back at him with both apprehension and--what was it, what was that look on his face? Worry? Guilt?

Preposterous.

Alibaba didn’t know what he had been expecting, when he had woken up and seen this boy, but he knew now what his situation was. He was still a slave. No, now he was officially a slave. He wasn’t freed by death; this boy had forcibly brought him away from it so that he could be enslaved again.

Hate suddenly filled him, hate for this prince in front of him, which surprised him because this boy had both saved his life and had healed him. But he had bought him. He had bought him, and Alibaba couldn't forgive him for that.

He didn't say anything.

There was a long silence as the two looked at each other. Hakuryuu broke eye contact first and left the room without a word. Alibaba settled himself back down onto the board, crossing his arms beneath his chin. He closed his eyes but sleep would not come to him, and he found his hands grabbing at his wrists, their grips tightening as his thumbs rubbed against the deep channels in his skin.

* * *

Hakuryuu hardly bothered him. In fact, the prince seemed to have disappeared completely since Alibaba had first awakened, which he found fine. Instead, though, a large number of servants--servants, Alibaba noticed when he looked down at their unscarred wrists and ankles--checked on him and aided him when they found the need to.

Alibaba didn't eat any of the food that they brought him. He was sure just by looking at it that it tasted good, but they didn't seem appetizing to him and his stomach didn't feel hungry. The servants didn't seem to know what to do, mumbling among themselves about how malnourished he already was, but Alibaba ignored them. He didn't speak to any of them, didn't respond to any of their questions with even a shake of his head. The most he did to help was comply with their requests to move during checkups and go to the restroom by himself.

His consciousness was beginning to go fuzzy by the second day. He realized that, with the three days he had been unconscious, that he hadn't eaten for five days, and before then his diet had still be dangerously miniscule. He was going to die of starvation at this rate--but he couldn't help it, when he saw the food that the servants brought him. They looked good but didn't seem good, and he felt that if he tried a bite that he was going to puke.

Although the doctors didn't say anything directly to him, the look on their faces told him enough.

On the second evening his back was declared well enough for Alibaba to lie in a bed, and they sent him to his own, personal room. The ground had a fluffy, white futon on it, so thick that Alibaba could hardly tell that there was a ground beneath him, and he gladly buried himself underneath a soft blanket. He could accept this sort of hospitality, he guessed, as he drifted off to sleep.

He woke the next morning to the sound of the door of his room slamming open. Alibaba sat up, confused, to see Hakuryuu march in with a tray in his hands.

The prince kneeled by Alibaba, firmly shoving the tray onto Alibaba's lap. Alibaba looked down at it to see a loaf of flat bread, a bowl of broth with some meat and vegetables mixed in, a cup of water, and a couple slices of fruit. He looked back at Hakuryuu.

"Eat it," Hakuryuu said firmly. The prince had a determined yet strange look on his face, and his frown grew when Alibaba didn't respond. "Eat. My servants have told me how you would not touch any of the food they have given you and are worrying about your health. Even if you have no appetite you cannot get better without eating."

Alibaba furled his eyebrows at the prince. Why in the world would that give him a reason for him to go to Alibaba himself and try to feed him?

Hakuryuu, however, misinterpreted the silence. "Is it because you don't understand me?" he asked, his voice growing impatient. "Or are you just idiotic? Even if you don't understand my language, you should understand what I'm trying to tell you! Eat!"

Alibaba scowled at the insult. The urge to just throw the tray at the prince filled him, but he resisted it and instead just turned his head away from Hakuryuu. The prince let out a small hiss of frustration.

Alibaba suddenly felt something proud roughly at his cheek, and he turned toward Hakuryuu to find the bread being stuffed stuffed into his mouth. Alibaba let out a startled noise and tried to spit the bread out, but the taste of spices and herbs flooded his mouth and he froze.

Hakuryuu let grow of the bread and sat back, watching. Alibaba slowly grabbed the bread, biting off his mouthful and chewing it slowly. He could taste sesame seeds and cayenne pepper, but most overwhelming were the thyme and sumac that he now saw coated the top of the bread. He hadn’t realized it when he looked down at his tray, but he saw now, looking at the bread and soup--the cuisine was undoubtedly not Kou food, but...

He swallowed and looked at Hakuryuu, who was looking away sheepishly.

“I happened to find some scrolls regarding middle eastern cuisine and they had recipes,” Hakuryuu mumbled. “This was my first time cooking something like this, so it might not be to your taste, but I thought that perhaps you would actually eat something from your homeland, if I’m correct. I wasn’t exactly too sure where you were from, since there was no paperwork... and the ingredients might not be right, I haven’t worked with some of them before...”

Hakuryuu trailed off, mumbling and looking increasingly more worried as he talked. Alibaba stared at him for a couple minutes and then looked back down at the tray. The thyme and tumac-topped bread wasn’t meant for this type of soup, but Alibaba suddenly dunked the bread into it anyway, ripping the soaked part of the bread off with his teeth.

Hakuryuu stopped talking, looking up to watch Alibaba eat. Alibaba ate without looking at the prince, only finally turning toward him when the plates and bowl were empty. Hakuryuu glanced at the empty tray, then back at Alibaba.

The prince suddenly smiled. His smile was small but it transformed his entire face, and Alibaba blinked at the change.

Hakuryuu wordlessly took the tray from Alibaba’s lap, leaving the cup of water by his futon. Alibaba watched him walk toward the door, and a part of him felt that it shouldn’t end this way, not with his body suddenly comfortable and warm for the first time in months.

He cleared his throat.

“Wait.”

Alibaba’s voice was hoarse; the word sounded more like a croak because of the months he had refused to utter a word at anyone. Hakuryuu turned around in surprise.

There was a long silence, and Alibaba’s gaze dropped down to his lap. Hakuryuu hesitatingly began to walk back through the doorway.

“... Thank you, Hakuryuu,” Alibaba finally mumbled. Hakuryuu’s footsteps stopped, and he took a step back into the room, looking at Alibaba with wide eyes. Alibaba hesitatingly looked back up, and the two locked eyes for a silent minute.

“... That...” Hakuryuu began, then loudly cleared his throat. “That’s Prince Hakuryuu to you.”

The prince hurried away quickly, and Alibaba stared at the doorway where he was once before. The blond groaned and covered his eyes with the backs of his hands, falling back down onto the futon.

Why had he said thanks? The boy was still a prince, his owner--Alibaba owed no words to him. So why’d he speak?

Alibaba removed his hands to look back up at his wrists, at the markings that had shown no signs of healing in the past few days. His mind wandered, and he found himself focusing on the lingering taste of spices in his mouth, and he idly touched his bottom lip.

Aah, this was too much to think about. Alibaba lightly slapped his cheek with his hand and turned over in the futon. Even though he had just woken he was ready to go back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened between chapters two and three through Hakuryuu's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that 'bonus' chapter I mentioned more than a year ago in the last chapter? Here it is.
> 
> I apologize for straight up stopping this fic. I'll have to admit my drive for Magi died abruptly at season one of the anime. Now that Alibaba and Hakuryuu are meeting once again.. Well, I figured I could still have a go at this fic.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the support. I actually wrote this chapter ages ago but only posted it on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy it. The actual plot should continue after this.

The weather was nice, he had decided that morning. After several months of chilly days and even harsher nights, the clouds had finally decided to open themselves up above the Kou Empire, allowing sunlight to filter through them and warm the land underneath.

And so Hakuryuu had decided to take a stroll that morning, only bringing with him a couple servants unlike the twenty or so that always accompanied him.

Although the Kou Empire took great pride in its naval forces and trades, the palace itself was not very close to the sea. It was rather rare for Hakuryuu to be in a port city, but there he was for a brief economics lesson. His lesson had already been finished and he was to leave to the palace just the next day. Today was meant for relaxation and exploration; it was never bad for a prince to become more familiar with his people.

He rather liked it here in this port city. It was surprisingly small for one that was right by the sea, though he learned that it did its business well and imported and exported goods that weren’t as common in the country. At the port the other day he had found several items that pertained to other cultures; Hakuryuu decided that he wanted to go back and see if he could find any good readings there, since he had never left the country before.

He and his servants walked toward the decks. Hakuryuu didn’t have any personal servants or partners, unlike his sister and stepbrothers, so he remained silent as he walked; his thoughts drifted elsewhere and were only interrupted by a rhythmic sound.

Hakuryuu glanced upward and saw that a large crowd was gathering at the nearby deck, where the sound seemed to be coming from. It sounded strangely familiar, like something was slicing through the air…

The crowd drew in collective breaths. Hakuryuu’s eyes widened.

He stepped forward and pushed through the crowd; they didn’t realize he was a prince of their own country, didn’t step aside to let him through, but he shoved through them, ignoring cries of protest that rang from both the people and his servants.

He burst into the circle in the crowd.

* * *

_Mother, what are they doing to that man in the courtyard?_

_They’re punishing him, Hakuryuu._

_Why are they punishing him? Isn’t that blood?_

_Yes, it is, darling. You see, when people do bad things,bad things happen to them. It is sometimes the duties of other people to make sure those bad things happen because they deserve it, my dear, and it is only right for us to punish them. You will understand more in the future._

_But what if they don’t actually deserve to be punished, mother?_

_That’s silly, Hakuryuu. No one will be punished if they don’t do bad things._

_So… Mother, you and father and my brothers and me will never be punished?_

_Of course, dear. Now, let’s go inside. It’s getting rather chilly._

* * *

His voice rose without him meaning it to.

“Stop!”

He shouldn’t have been surprised when the man _did_ stop to stare, his hand still uplifted with the whip dripping with blood to bring down its next strike. The man looked over him with a calculating eye, taking note of his headpiece and clothes, and slowly brought the whip down.

“Excuse me,” Hakuryuu began before the other could speak. “I am Ren Hakuryuu, fourth prince of the Kou Empire.”

There was a murmur from the crowd. The man glared at him coldly for a few seconds before giving a shallow bow.

“Hello, your highness. I am Fatima, a slave merchant who is designated to no nation,” he said politely as he straightened his back. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in business with me?”

“Slavery?” Hakuryuu repeated, glancing at the bloody, slashed.. _thing_ on the ground. “There are no slaves in the Kou Empire.”

“Really?” the merchant asked in surprise, looking back at another man—one of his partners—then back at Hakuryuu. “That must be incorrect; we have had plenty of slave transactions with this nation, although they aren’t nearly as numerous compared to some others. Ah, but perhaps you don’t know because we hardly sell slaves to royals in this country. Rather, it’s just to those that need hard labor.”

Hakuryuu had no response. Fatima’s gaze grew bored.

“Please excuse my rudeness, your highness, but I was in the middle of something before you kindly intervened. If you would be so kind to step back to let me continue—I will speak to you afterward, if you would like.”

He raised his whip again.

“Wait—!” Hakuryuu grimaced as the whip came down sharply, though no sound came from the thing—slave—person.

“Yes?” Fatima asked testily.

“May I asked why you are doing this?” Hakuryuu asked.

The slave merchant looked both surprised and confused. “Well, he attempted to escape, of course!” he responded. “It’s not like we just whip any slave that we get. This isn’t the first time he has attempted to escape too; I decided that it would be best to execute him now.”

“But on Kou grounds?” Hakuryuu asked with a frown. “What you are doing is an unauthorized public execution of an noncivilian on our land.”

“Ah, but it’s allowed,” Fatima replied boredly. “Don’t worry, your highness; we always check the laws of the nations we trade with. Because this slave does not belong to any nation and has not since our capture of it, we are legally allowed to have the right of life of death over it. And because it is our property until it is sold, regular jurisdiction and punishments don’t apply to it even in foreign nations. Your country’s laws say nothing against this nor against slavery itself.”

Hakuryuu stared.

“Well,” Fatima said, looking down at the slave on the ground. “Although you clearly don’t like it, I’m afraid that there’s no point in moving this thing somewhere private to be executed. It just needs a few more, that’s all—I promise to get it done quickly so this scene can be over.”

He raised his whip again.

Hakuryuu lunged forward and grabbed his wrist.

“Hah?” Fatima glared down at the prince. “Excuse me, your highness. _What_ are you doing?”

“As prince, I am forbidding this execution from taking place,” Hakuryuu growled, meeting the other’s glare.

“Pardon, but where were you when it began?” Fatima asked, a small smirk growing on his painted lips. “Like I said, I have every right to do this. Besides, that thing’s going to die without proper medical care at this rate. Was already in quite a bad state before I even touched him.”

“He’s going to get medical care, then,” Hakuryuu replied, glancing back at his servants. “Carefully get him out of here and find a doctor at once.”

“Apologies, sir--but what do you think you’re doing?” Fatima asked, wrenching his wrist away from Hakuryuu’s grasp. “Did you not hear what I just said?”

“I’ll pay you—just end this gruesome sight,” Hakuryuu replied. Fatima frowned, then crossed his arms, allowing the whip to wrap around them.

“Even with that tempting offer, you do realize that the slave is still my property? If you pay enough I will be more than happy to end this execution, and even allow it to heal, but I still have every right to go back and execute it another time. There is no reason for me to keep it now that it’s proven its worthlessness.”

Hakuryuu had been staring at his servants, who had brought a wooden board and cloth to lay the injured slave on, and he looked back at Fatima with a distracted frown. “Worthlessness? It he worthless for trying to escape confinements?”

“Well of course,” Fatima replied with a suppressed roll of his eyes. “It’s not like it’s completely innocent—I was hired to capture it after it had caused some commotion with some wine barrels or something. Lost a lot of its boss’s money—it has to pay it back some way, right?”

“He can’t do that if he’s dead.”

“Well—of course, but no one will buy a delinquent slave like this.”

Fatima looked at him carefully with this statement, and Hakuryuu met his stare equally. Some part in the back of his mind told him to be careful, that the other was obviously setting up a trap. Hakuryuu gladly fell into it.

“I will, then.”

“Wonderful!” Fatima answered happily with a clap of his hands, dropping the bloody whip to turn to his partner. “Get some paperwork, quickly—I’m sure you would be more than happy to sign now?” he asked, turning back to Hakuryuu.

Hakuryuu stared at the servants that disappeared through the parted crowd with the slave, then looked back at Fatima. “Of course.”

* * *

“How is he?” Hakuryuu immediately asked when he entered the room. The air, even with the windows open, smelled like rust and heat. Hakuryuu stared at the slave—his slave, now—laying chest-down on a table. A doctor and an assistant were cleaning the bloody gashes on his back with several cloths.

The doctor looked up and wiped some sweat from his brow with his wrist. “Not very well, your highness,” he replied, biting his bottom lip as he looked down at the slave. “Even if we manage to clean the wound, there’s a high chance that any of these cuts—and thus all of them—will get infected. Furthermore he is extremely malnourished; his immune system will most likely fail without proper care.”

“Then get him proper care,” Hakuryuu replied with crossed arms, frowning down at the slave. “What do you recommend? I will pay you.”

“Unfortunately, even I am unable to do anything with this situation. I can give you proper medication for him, but they will be most useful when he wakes up—which is another issue entirely, sir.”

“Hm?”

“Undoubtedly he is in a serious amount of pain right now. Currently his state of unconsciousness is protecting him from most of it, but the moment he wakes up he will feel it and will probably fall into shock. It can kill him.”

Ah, right. Hakuryuu stared at the bloody back in front of him. “What do you recommend, doctor?”

“Find a magician. Quickly, too.”

Hakuryuu immediately sent some servants out with horses to find a magician. “Please clean the wound to the best of your ability before the magician arrives,” he asked the doctor with a small bow. “And, if possible, clean the rest of his body as well.” The slave was absolutely covered in filth—Hakuryuu couldn’t even tell his hair color—and it would definitely interfere with his health later if not now.

The prince waited impatiently by the closed door as the doctor and his assistant washed the slave, biting the side of his finger to keep himself from fidgeting.

After what seemed like an hour the door finally opened.

“How is he?” Hakuryuu asked as he entered the room.

He immediately saw that he didn’t need a reply. Although the slave was clean now—his hair was gold—Hakuryuu could see just how deeply the whip cut into his skin. What he at first thought was water from the washing was actually sweat.

“He has shown signs of waking soon,” the doctor replied as he washed his hands in a container full of pink water. “I believe that there has been no sign of the magician yet?”

“No.”

They waited in tense silence. Hakuryuu stared at the—his—slave. He was only just a boy, he saw now, couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Hakuryuu himself. How in the world could he get himself into such a situation, he wondered as he stared at the cuts on his back, at the shackles on his wrists and ankles.

Ah. He wordlessly retrieved a key from his robes, which he had forgotten in concern, and gently grabbed his slave’s wrist. The shackles fell with heavy clunks onto the wooden table, and Hakuryuu recoiled slightly. Where the shackles once were now deep, bloody grooves in his wrists. The same, he discovered soon, were on his ankles.

“Can do you anything about these?” he asked the doctor. The doctor inspected them and, after a few moments, gave a slight shake of his head.

“I’m afraid they can only be healed over time,” he said, reaching into his bag. “I can provide some ointment that will help with its current wounds, but the scarring itself will last for years even with magical treatment.”

Hakuryuu paid for the ointment. The doctor looked at him rather curiously as he received the money.

“What is it?”

“Ah—I apologize, your highness. It’s just that I find it strange that you are caring about these wounds as well.”

“Am I not supposed to have a reason to?” Hakuryuu asked in confusion, holding the small case of ointment.

“No… Well, slaves are expected to wear their shackles at all times. Do you plan to free him?”

Hakuryuu frowned as he glanced at the slave and then down at the ointment. “… No,” he admitted. “While that was my original intention, the scum that sold this slave to me made sure to add in the contract that although this slave is my property, I am not to free him for at least five years. He claimed that it was only fair, as I prevented an execution.”

“Can you not break it, your highness? You are a prince after all.”

“Perhaps, but a contract is indeed a contract. I shall keep it.”

A loud groan interrupted their conversation. They both hurried to the slave, who had a pained expression on his face now.

“He’s awakening,” the doctor said with a troubled frown.

The slave’s breaths grew only more hurried and ragged and sweat threatened to stream off his body. Beads of blood began to grow on the wounds as agitation caused them to open again. He let out another small moan, his eyebrows furrowed, and Hakuryuu saw his fists clench against the tabletop.

Where were his servants…? Hakuryuu gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to watch this but he couldn’t tear his eyes away, not now when someone was dying in front of him.

The slave shifted slightly, causing another sound of pain. His breaths were stuttering, and Hakuryuu was amazed that he wasn’t crying out yet. He took a few steps toward him, staring, transfixed.

The slave suddenly shifted again, his face contorted and tears dripping from his eyes, and let out a sob.

His hand moved by itself, placing itself on the slave’s arm. His skin was hot, already burning hot with fever, but it was the jolt of movement from the slave that caused him to draw his hand back. The slave only let out another moan of pain, and Hakuryuu bit his lip guiltily.

The sound of running suddenly appeared and two of servants, along with a woman with a  staff, burst into the room.

“Please—” Hakuryuu started immediately, turning to the woman. “I’ll pay whatever the price is—just please save him!”

The magician glanced at the wounds and immediately chanted a spell, hovering the ball of the staff above the slave’s back. A white glow bathed the wounds and the slave immediately relaxed, letting out a long sigh.

His hand moved again. It touched his arm, hesitatingly, as the slave’s expression relaxed.

“He will be unconscious for several days,” the magician announced, continuing to pour her magoi over him. “However this spell should stabilize his wound and heal it—as well as stifle the pain—in the time that he is. It will not be completely healed when he awakens, though, and I cannot do anything regarding the scarring. But I believe he can survive.” She smiled wearily. “Under normal circumstances not anyone can survive such conditions. You have a fighter here.”

Hakuryuu pulled his hand back sat down on a chair, not realizing that his legs were shaking before, and silently watched the magician cast her spell. He paid her a large sum when she finished and further paid the doctor to stay with the slave for the next few days in case of any emergency.

Soon the doctor and his assistant were gone, to get their own belongings, and Hakuryuu sent his servants away. Only he and his slave remained in the room, and the prince silently watched the sleeping figure on the table for several long moments, frowning.

It had passed by so quickly… But Hakuryuu realized now, with this boy in front of him, what just happened. This wasn’t an addition to his household—he wasn’t even a dungeon capturer unlike his siblings and cousin, so he didn’t even have a household—but something entirely different, a system that didn’t exist in the palace and that he didn’t know existed in the nation.

What was he to tell his sister? Stepbrothers? The king himself? He was undoubtedly going to get into trouble, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that they wouldn’t go as far as to rid of his slave.

Besides, am I even allowed to worry about such trivialities? he asked himself, his eyes wandering to the slashes on the slave’s back. They were left in the open air, to be wrapped in bandages later.

He pondered as he continued to watch the sleeping slave, his hands fumbling with themselves as he thought. He worried aimlessly—what if the slave actually did die, what if he was wrong about his relatives, what if, what if—but at least Hakuryuu was certain of one thing.

He didn’t regret it, regret saving this life in front of him. His crimes and past he would worry about later—what mattered now was that he was alive and would be until a much later time.

Hakuryuu smiled softly before he stood up, leaving the room without a backwards glance.


End file.
